


It's a Beautiful Night; We're Looking for Something Dumb to Do

by flammablehat



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Fluff, M/M, Team Gluttony
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-01
Updated: 2012-07-01
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:23:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flammablehat/pseuds/flammablehat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's a little political unrest and a lackluster zombie outbreak in the face of True Love, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's a Beautiful Night; We're Looking for Something Dumb to Do

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Summerpornathon '12, challenge 2. This was an extra entry that was not submitted for the actual challenge. Title is taken from the Bruno Mars song "Marry You"

They walked into the restaurant bickering. It wasn’t the setting Arthur had envisioned for this conversation, but the post-outbreak world didn’t afford many fine dining options.

Naturally, or perhaps ironically, McDonald’s had survived the “Zombie Apocalypse” to keep calm and fry on.

“Look,” Arthur said, “it isn’t that big of a deal. I just think it would be nice. It would be a nice gesture!”

Merlin squinted at him, rubbing at the back of his head and messing his hair. “What are you getting?”

“What? Oh. Right, well. Whopper please, with chips. Wait — that’s Burger King, isn’t it? Whatever, quarter pounder, there you go.” Arthur gestured at the faded menu board. The undead behind the counter prodded listlessly at the till. “Anything for you?”

“Nah,” Merlin said, rubbing his belly now. “I’m fine.”

“Right, that’s it.” Arthur dug in his wallet. “How much...?” he trailed off, eyeing the register girl. “Here, nevermind, have a tenner and we’ll call it even.” He slid the money over, careful to avoid touching her even though she wore gloves and he was vaccinated. She gave him a twenty pound note as change. Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and stuffed the bill in the charity box. “Why are you so resistant to the idea, anyway?” he asked.

“I’m not _resistant_ ,” Merlin hedged. Arthur arched a brow. “No, I just... I don’t understand why it matters, given our circumstances.”

“Oi,” Arthur said, distracted by the fry-cook sliding a partially raw patty onto a bare bun. “That’s not how you — oh, Christ, here, let me—” and he vaulted easily over the counter, edging the vacant looking teen away from the griddle with a gentle shoulder. He was forced to wield the spatula to fend off the kid’s attempts to nibble his arm, making Merlin laugh. Arthur grinned, heart doing acrobatics at the sound.

They trudged back to the flat shoulder to shoulder, hopping over potholes, weaving around abandoned old cars. Arthur felt very strongly about the importance of carrying on traditions, even if he didn’t quite know how to verbalize his thoughts. Merlin made him nervous, hot under the collar.

“Alright, let’s say we did it,” Merlin said, nicking the limp chips from Arthur’s carton. Arthur might’ve slapped his hand, only he didn’t much care for the limp chips.

“I’m listening.” Arthur set his elbows on the kitchen counter, across from Merlin.

“We’d have to find someone to officiate, and the way things are tied up right now with the URA and human rights violations, it could take months. Longer, even.”

Arthur nodded. The Undead Rehabilitation Act was partly responsible for their meal, and the human rights violations Merlin spoke of were the product of a population that had been itching for an excuse to hit each other with shovels. The outbreak had provided both shovel and shotgun opportunities — just not, as it turned out, as justifiably as they’d been led to expect by the movies.

“Come here,” Arthur said, hooking a hand behind Merlin’s neck and tugging him across the formica.

“You taste like shite burger,” Merlin said, low and thick, bubbly with laughter.

Arthur hustled him out of the kitchen, palming his ribs, his arse, his waist, the prominence of his Adam’s apple under stubble that was growing soft. Merlin cupped Arthur’s jaw in his hands, steadying his kisses like the focused point of light beneath a magnifying glass.

They hit the bed together, ignoring the mustiness of the sheets and the squeaking of old mattress springs. Arthur bit and licked at pale skin, reassured by its living warmth. Merlin murmured quiet encouragement when Arthur pressed deep, burying his nose behind Merlin’s ear to inhale the yeasty-sweet scent of his sweat.

“Come on,” Merlin urged, gripping Arthur’s arse. Arthur laughed against Merlin’s throat, rocking in and out, groaning at the hot, tight slide. He kept his arms wrapped around Merlin’s chest the whole time, clinging fiercely in a way he knew was at least somewhat responsible for Merlin’s breathless panting. He came with a soft hiccup of noise, muffled into Merlin’s nape. “That’s it, love,” Merlin whispered, petting him through it.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, pushing him into the pillows and climbing clumsily between his legs. “If I asked you, what would you say?”

“I’d say you haven’t asked me,” Merlin gasped, spreading his legs for Arthur’s fingers, arching up for his mouth.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, breathing over Merlin’s cock. “Marry me?”

“Yes,” Merlin said, hands snapping up to grip the headboard, sinking into delicious wet heat. “Yes, Arthur, _yes_ —”


End file.
